


Emergence

by Cerfblanc



Series: Dan, Abra [1]
Category: Doctor Sleep (2019)
Genre: Emotional Attachment, F/M, Film-Orientated, Gen, Psychic Bond, Reunion, Spoilers, Telepathic Bond, Uncle-Niece Relationship, the overlook hotel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 18:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21275729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc
Summary: “I’m—I’m here.” Dan says, kind of awkwardly (typical), with a hacking cough and injuries littering him all over. He suddenly has the selflessness to ask, “are you hurt?”





	Emergence

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read any further: this fic includes a MASSIVE SPOILER. 
> 
> I just recently went to see Doctor Sleep (2019) the day it was released and instantly fell in love with everything about it—I just had to write something little. I have seen Kubrick’s The Shining (1980) but have not read King’s novels (though I plan to do that very soon, pls don’t kill me).
> 
> Since I have not read the original novel of Doctor Sleep I will be incorporating what I had collected from the film, and little bits from the book where necessary. 
> 
> Please if you would, leave a kudo. Though I’d appreciate a comment even more <33
> 
> Enjoy this mini fic :D

_‘Uncle Dan.’_

_ ‘Uncle Dan.’ _

_ ‘Uncle Dan.’ _

_ ‘Dan?’ _

Abra could feel the coldness of the snow through the soles of her trainers as she stood outside the burning Overlook Hotel. She didn’t know how long it had been since she had last seen him, nor did she remember how long he had been inside for. Her body was entirely numb, as if driven into a state of euphoric opioids, but the cold didn’t contribute to that. The cold was nothing. The fire was nothing. Standing here amidst both physical and mental chaos was nothing. All that was crucial, all that truly mattered, all that was the most important thing in the universe right now, was making sure that Dan emerged from the fiery doors of the blazing hotel. _Dante’s Inferno. The Gates of Hell. The Lake of Fire and Brimstone._ God, he had to come out. He had to. He wouldn’t be that stupid. He wouldn’t be that careless. He couldn’t be. He _couldn’t_. He wasn’t like that. He felt more than that. He had more to give. _He knew that. _

“Please.” Abra breathes, her voice shuddering. “Please, Dan. Please Uncle Dan. _Please_.” She had never felt so much fear for someone; it was another level of altruism, an elevated sort of trust she felt—although, perhaps the altruism countered how much she wanted to see him stagger out of those doors. It didn’t matter how hurt he was as long as he was still alive. Pain was temporary. “Come on, come out, get out,” she says the inaudible words in a mantra, as if projecting imperatives would drag him out—wherever he was—whoever he was still with. She shuts her eyes tight, prays, and tries reaching out for what felt like the millionth attempt. She would continue the process like a ritual, for as long as it takes, until the orange flames lost their lawlessness and ceased to a fossilised black. 

_ ‘Uncle Dan.’ _

_ ‘Please.’ _

_ ‘Get out.’ _

_ ‘Come out.’ _

_ ‘Run.’ _

_ ‘You have to get out.’ _

_ ‘You have to.’ _

_ ‘You have to.’ _

_ ‘You have to.’ _

_ ‘Uncle Dan—‘ _

She’s stunned out of the one-sided conversation when something within the hotel combusts, the wooden planks that had been previously nailed to the windows blew off the frames, the glass violently splintered into the turbulence of the fire, and the shards glittered and shone within its hot white centre—it was like watching fireworks and stars fracturing into a sparkling grain. Abra feels her gut plummet at the sight, and she can hardly think. Her eyes burned and her mouth was dry. She felt choked and beaten. Maybe a little cheated into surviving. 

_I should be in there too_, she thinks. 

In another flailing desperate attempt she tries again, her eyes fluttering shut once more. 

_ ‘Dan?’ _

Her voice sounded meek in her head, it was barely audible, and uses the last of her emotional energy to scream. 

_ ‘DAN!!!’ _

“You…you have to get out.” She mumbles, opening her eyes.  _ You have to get out. You have to. You must. You’ve got to.  _

She opens her eyes when she hears the noise of burning debris colliding and collecting into the ground within the hotel; the roof had already started to cave inward. She tries again.

_ ‘Uncle Dan?’ _

Within the second explosion Abra feels as though she had been suffocated with a mental silence. 

It was similar to being plunged deep under water, every sound and every movement being slowed and halted to a gradual stop, and everything seems to fall into a stasis of reluctant sleep.

As she feels the tears slide down her cheeks she hears the distant sound of multiple police sirens, and she whips her head round into the blurred landscape of snow and black sky; there, along the horizon line was a trail of blue and red lights speeding up the white road. She watches them aimlessly. Her breathing slowed. The sight of the police cars was like the end credits to everything they had experienced, up until now. It was a confirmation. A dreaded one. A confirmation of closure. Unwanted, as much as she wanted it to end. She was finally condemned to safety—but without him. 

In that instant, she’s torrented out of her reverie by the shuddering sensation of something heavy weighing on her left shoulder, it embodies a frighteningly desperate grasp, and as if on cue the fear comes barrelling back into Abra’s gut and her breath catches in the back of her throat in horror—but in between the sirens and the crackling of the inferno, there’s a blooming warmth that emits out of thin air. She can feel it in her chest. 

Abra looks up to meet Dan. 

“I’m—I’m here.” He says, kind of awkwardly (typical), with a hacking cough and injuries littering him all over. He suddenly has the selflessness to ask, “are you hurt?”

_ Am I hurt?  _ Abra thinks with what felt like hysterical sarcasm. She looks at Dan. He had quite literally been dragged through Hell and back.  _ I should be asking you if you’re hurt. You’re the one that’s bleeding. _

“Hey, kid,” Dan starts, staggering a little when he pulls her toward him (he was definitely still bleeding, pretty badly), and envelopes her into his arms, “why are you crying?”

_ Why am I crying?  _

Abra was unsure if Dan was attempting to humour her, if he was being stupidly rhetorical, or if he was being genuinely serious. Everything seemed to overlap into one indistinguishable dichotomy. He smelled of fire and carcinogens, but he was warm. “You got out.” She sobbed. She hears him let out a throaty chuckle. It turns into another cough. 

“Yeah, well…it’s thanks to you I did.”

“What?”

“Yeah.” Dan replies. He has to grasp her arms to pull her away from him, just enough to see her small face and glistening cheeks. She was still weeping. “You…didn’t have to scream though.” He says. “It scared me a little.” She smiles at that, sniffles, and squeezes him once more. Her arms ached. 

Finally, Abra mumbles, “I thought you _died_.”

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did.”

“Good,” she pulls herself away to look up at him, “because I wouldn’t be able to forgive you. Ever.”

He tries to smile through whatever pain he was experiencing, probably the axe wound that was still pooling blood, but he was still half-standing. Definitely sore. But alive. “Yeah. Me neither.”


End file.
